Launching My Writing Retreat-for-One in Paris

I'm here! In Paris! It actually happened!

Now that it did happen, I'm thinking I badly overestimated the chances of its not happening. With all the COVID hurdles to jump over, and the soaring number of cancellations reported over the holidays, it had started to seem all but impossible for anybody to fly anywhere. But actually, millions of people are flying to all kinds of places. Including me!

When I arrived at the hotel off the Boulevard Saint Germaine that I had booked online via Travelocity, at first my heart sank. It was nowhere near as charming as the website pictures had made it appear. My room was SO small, barely large enough for the bed. The only window looked out to an airshaft, rather than a Parisian streetscape. I couldn't figure out how to make the hangers in the wardrobe grip onto my skirts. I had brought the wrong kind of adapter for my laptop. How was I going to have an idyllic writing retreat HERE? How was THIS supposed to be the place where I would I would fall in love with writing all over again? Was this whole trip going to turn out to be a MISTAKE?

But after I finally managed to unpack, bought the proper adapter from the gentleman at the reception desk, obtained the universally required, scannable Pass Sanitaire (purchased for 36 euros from a nearby pharmacy after producing my handwritten American vaccination card), and bought my first crepe (with apricot jam), everything felt more hopeful. Look, I told myself, you have always wanted to write in a tiny garret in Paris. Now you have yourself a tiny garret in Paris! Yes, my room is small, but the lounge (also small!) is appealing. 

And I discovered this morning that the breakfast included in the room price is NOT small, but lavish indeed: a basket of bread and croissants, all the strawberry and apricot jam I could desire, decadently fragrant brie, plus fruit, yogurts, hard-boiled eggs, and more. I can feed myself for an entire day on this free breakfast supplemented with one other simple meal somewhere.

Still, I had trouble remembering why I had come all this way to do the same thing that I could do in my far more comfortable home back in beautiful Boulder. So I opened my copy of the delightful book A Writer's Paris by Eric Maisel and read his answer to this question: "Going [to Paris] for the express purpose of writing and then writing when you get there are the kind of brave acts that can help turn your writing life around. This is less about what Paris will do for your heart and mind and more about what such a step means. . . . It is to put your writing first."

Yes!

Maisel also writes, "You feel at home in Paris because the things that you care about - strolling, thinking, loving, creating - are built into the fabric of the city." He recommends what the French call flânerie, "strolling as an art form," "which promotes that meditative state that leads to artistry."  

So far I have been doing more strolling than writing, but such lovely strolling it has been - past an open-air fruit market, a flower shop, a patisserie. 

I found my way to La Place des Vosges, which Maisel calls "the most beautiful square in the world."

At Number 6 is Victor Hugo's house, where just looking at his bedroom with its plush red velvet armchair is an invitation to write.

Starting tomorrow, I am going to put my writing first. I will write in museums: I've booked myself timed tickets to the Louvre for Friday and the Musée d'Orsay for Saturday. I will write in churches; they are all open and beautiful meditative spaces. I will write in cafes, and in the hotel lounge, and in my hotel room which now, after just one day, feels sweet and dear. I will write everywhere! Even this blog post counts as writing! I'm writing in Paris already!